


Week With Strider

by cumulativeChaos



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Humanstuck, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 08:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5040883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumulativeChaos/pseuds/cumulativeChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dave is famous, Karkat enters a "Week With Strider" contest on a drunken dare, and a lot of things happen as a result.</p>
<p>(Rating to change.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so i didn't want to post this until i was farther into the story, bc idk when i'll be able to work on it and therefore this could remain not-updated for a year, but i'm also really pumped about this story and figured that having it posted would be good incentive to work on it. this baby's gonna be pretty long and also 100% gonna include smut, but also dave and karkat probably won't even meet until chapter 3 or 4. but when they do, it'll be _good_ , I swear. once they get over the hating each other part.

==>

Your name is Dave Strider, and of all the ridiculous costumes you’ve had to wear in the name of “fashion,” this one is by far your favorite.  Why?  Two words: tuxedo pajamas.

Literally.

You are currently adorned in a bright red tuxedo made out of the softest fabric you’ve ever touched, feeling like you’re enveloped in a warm, fluffy cloud.  You want to never take this tux off.  You want to sleep in it.  You want to get married in it.  You want to be buried in it.

Unfortunately, the eye-catching tux is as far as your comfort extends.

The chair you’re sitting on is hard and cold.  The lights shining into your eyes are burning your already-feeble retinas, even through your shades.  The heat from sitting directly under so many high-powered beams of harsh white light is making you melt into your fluffy tux.

And, of course, there are the hundreds of screaming women who are reaching decibel levels that have never before been achieved by human vocal cords.

“Dave!” the man sitting next to you booms.  His voice is friendly and cheerful, his grin whiter than a religious suburban mom.  You want to punch him in the warm brown eyes.

You give him a nod and lift a hand to the audience, your usual greeting.  The sound barrier splits in two.

 

==>

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you fucking hate Dave Strider and everything he stands for in your life.

“Oh my god, look!” Jade Harley squeals, sitting next to you on the couch but leaning so far over that she’s in serious danger of falling off.  It takes a huge amount of effort to resist the urge to push her onto the floor.  “Oh my god, I think that tux might be my new favorite Dave Strider outfit!”

“Why?” you spit.  “He looks like a fucking fire truck.”

Of all the things about Jade Harley you don’t understand (and there is quite the long list), her infatuation with Dave Strider is probably one of the most confusing.  When you met her in middle school, your first impression was one of a loud and obnoxious tomboy.  She loved to climb trees and wasn’t afraid to roll around in the mud, plus she was the most sure shot on the high school rifle team.  Good enough to get a spot on a team she shouldn’t have been able to participate in for another two years.  But in your freshman year of high school, the sudden appearance of the actor/songwriter/rapper/DJ Dave Strider (literally what a fucking try hard, can't he pick just _one_?)swooped Jade off her feet and into the celebrity’s fandom, which had been born practically overnight.  At the time Jade was still in middle school, so you thought she would grow out of it.  Unfortunately, she’d only become more obsessed with him over the years.  You’d been pretty apathetic towards the up-and-coming actor to begin with, but after you’d been forced to endure countless hours of interviews and even more hours of Jade babbling random Dave Strider trivia, you were ready to fly over to California and stab the Texan-born actor’s eyes with a sickle.

Jade smacks you on the knee with more force than you think is necessary.  “Shut up.  Dave looks _amazing_ in red.”

“When does he wear any other color?” you say with as much snark as you can muster.  Which, after years of practicing, is a pretty large amount.

“He wore a green suit once.”  Jade’s nose scrunches up.  “He doesn’t look good in green.  Bummer, green is such a great color.”

“Wonderful,” you say.  “Tell me—”

“SHH!”  Jade cuts you off, shoving her finger against your lips.  You scowl and bat her hand away, but she doesn’t seem to notice.  “He’s talking!”

On the screen of the Harley/Egbert TV, a smooth-looking young man in a bright red tuxedo manages to enthrall and entrance the audience, both live and watching from home.  He cracks jokes that have the audience roaring in the background, makes sarcastic quips that leave the show’s host flustered and awkward, and occasionally launches into a random word vomit that leaves everyone feeling like they missed out on something.

Jade is hanging onto his every word, and you want to vomit.  Dave Strider’s fans are nothing but brainwashed teenage girls and, unfortunately, Jade is no exception.  With everything else she’s quick-witted and sharp as a tack, but when it comes to Dave Strider she’s an incomprehensible ball of squealing and flailing.

“Seriously,” you say for the umpteenth time since you sat down to watch this stupid late-night interview.  “This is no different from any other interview with him ever.”

“Shut _up_.”  She slaps you again.  You can already feel the bruise forming.  “At least let me enjoy the sight of Dave in a red tuxedo.”

You raise a brow, but her attention is too focused on the screen to see.  “Really?”

“He looks fucking _edible_.”  You shudder.  “Goddamn it.  Look at that jawline.  I think I saw him do The Jaw Thing, like, _twice_ so far.  Ungh, it’s not _fair_ , how is he so _pe-e-e-rfect_?”

“Why do I have to partake in this every single time,” you groan.

“Because nobody else lets me yell at them for hours on end about the gift to the world that is Dave Strider.”  She glances away from the television for one second to send you a victorious smirk.  “Fuckass.”

“The fuckass would be you,” you say, but it’s late and you’re too tired to get involved in a real argument.  Your comeback rolls of Jade’s back without any resistance.

“Jane should be home any minute,” she says instead.  “She’s bringing John and Jake with her.”

“Thank _god_ ,” you groan.  “Finally, something to release me from this hell!  Please, whatever powers control this universe, make Jake and John and Jane arrive sooner! Another minute of this Hell and my brain will lose whatever grasp on reality it still has.  I shall descend into an endless black whole of pointless facts about Dave Strider’s childhood and dozens of analyses about his slight accent and the way he walks when he’s on the red carpet versus when he is out in the real world.  The only color I will see is the red of his stupid fucking tuxedo.  I will become the ultimate creation of the fangirls: a normal human being who is was forced to deal with one girl’s fangirling for so long that he went insane, and now all the knowledge he gained in his twenty-two pitiful years of existence has been replaced with endless knowledge about Dave Strider.  I will be—”

Jade punches you in the chest.

“HOLY _SHIT_!” you scream, and you catch the way Jade’s lip twitches up just a tiny bit.  “What the fuck was that for?”

“I couldn’t hear what Dave was saying,” she says simply.

You are _literally_ preparing to tear her throat out with your own bare hands when a knock on the door saves her from her certain doom.  You’re in the front hallway in seconds, scrambling to open the lock (“Holy fuck, Karkat, it’s a _chain_ , you literally just slide it to the end and pull it out, it’s not that hard.”) as fast as you possibly can.  As soon as the lock is opened, you throw the door open with more force than is really necessary.

“Whoa there, Karkat!” a familiar cheerful voice says, a laugh twisting around his words.  “Calm down!”

“John.”  You look at him with wild eyes, the eyes of a tortured man.  “John, if I have to spend another _millisecond_ sitting here while your cousin _ooh’s_ and _aah’s_ over some dick-muncher’s every word, I will _murder_ someone.  Probably _myself_.”

“O-o-okay, Karkat.”  John brushes past you, clapping you on the shoulder as he goes.  “We’ve come to rescue you.”

“Come to rescue the poor damsel in distress!” John’s cousin and Jade’s brother Jake declares as he too saunters into the apartment.

“Sorry you had to deal with that,” Jane, the last of the Egbert-Harley-English family and John’s older sister.  She shuts the door behind her and gives you a sympathetic glance.  “I know how she can get, trust me.”

“Yeah, well.”  You grumble as quietly as you can as you follow her back into the living room area.  “You have to live with her, so you have the worst luck.”

“I heard that!” Jade calls.

“You know it’s true!” you shout back.

“Come bake with me,” Jane says with a smile.  “So you don’t have to deal with more Dave Strider.”

“Yes, god, please.”  You’re terrible at baking, but right now you’ll take anything to get away from yet another boring interview with Jade’s commentary (which consists mostly of squeals and blubbering sentences that make no sense).

Jane sets about collecting the bowls and pans you’ll be needing while pointing you to the pantry to chose a mix.  You select something with the most amount of chocolate possible, and the second you pry the box of Betty Crocker cake mix open you hear a loud groan from the living room.

“Please, no Betty Crocker!” John shouts, but Jane just rolls her eyes.

“I’m trying to keep our friend from losing his mind!” Jane calls back, slicing open the bag of powder you hand to her.  “If you don’t like it, you can eat something else from the pantry.”

“But I can _smell_ it!” you hear John groan, but Jade shushes him.

Jane rolls her eyes as you dump the powder into a big metal bowl.  “Ignore him, he’s just being dramatic.”

The powder gets everywhere and you drop the eggshells in the batter, but thirty minutes later, Jane declares your batter “Almost edible this time,” when you push the pan into the oven, which is the best you’ve ever achieved in any of your baking attempts.

(Your Home Ec. class in high school was a tragic time for everyone.)

“All right,” Jane says as the two of you venture back into the living room.  Jake is sitting on the floor, his back resting against the side of the couch, and John is seated next to Jade on said couch.  You’re about to ask why Jake wasn’t sitting on the couch (there was more than enough room) when Jade burst into a fit of squealing and flailing, taking up the rest of the couch with her erratic movements.

John looks desperately uncomfortable.

“What did he do this time?” Jane asks, taking a seat next to her cousin on the floor.

“Winked,” Jake says in the most exasperated voice you’ve ever heard from the brit.  “He winked to the audience.”

“I want to OWN HIM,” Jade cries.

“Lord save us,” you say.  You still haven’t entered the room, and instead you’re leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed.

“ _Please_ ,” John whimpers, rubbing his arm where Jade’s foot hit him.

“I hate you all.”  Jade pouts.

“Doesn’t even compare to the amount of hate we feel for you, love,” Jane replies sweetly.

You stop listening as they begin to bicker.  Truth be told, you always feel slightly out of place with the four of them — they’re family, and you’re just… the friend who gets invited to things for no reason at all.  You and John were good friends in middle school, and when his kid cousin came into the middle school you became friends with her.  It just so happened that you and John chose to go to the same college when you graduated, but you both chose to room together your first semester.  After you dropped out, you’d expected to drift away from John and Jade just like you’d drifted away from all of your other high school friends, but neither of them would let you do that.  They forcefully kept in touch with you, and through that you finally got to know their older siblings Jake and Jane.

Your relationships with John and Jade are pretty similar: they both get on your nerves almost incessantly, but they’re both one of the few people who aren’t scared of your temper and loudness.  Jade, however, annoys you on purpose; John simply ticks you off with his cheerfulness and optimism.  Still, they bore with you through high school, when you were at your most unbearable and irritable, so they’ve both grown on you.

Jane is like a mother figure to all of you; John’s sister, she’s probably the only one you know of right now who can calm you down.  She’s a realist and is always calm and levelheaded.  Her cousin Jake is more oblivious and naïve, and he’s probably the person you’re least comfortable with.  You’re friendly enough with him, but you don’t really know much about him to be able to hold a conversation that’s not terribly one-sided.  As far as you know, he enjoys shitty movies (something he shares with John) and pistols.  Other than that, the guy is a cheerful mystery to you.

You ponder this as the four of them argue in a way you remember from growing up with Kankri.  Granted, as Kankri became older the teasing became ignoring, so you never really had _that_ much experience with bickering siblings, but still.

“The cake!” Jane shouts abruptly, standing up in the middle of the room.  The arguing continues around her, with Jade angrily shushing everyone because “I can’t hear Dave, goddamn it!”

“What about it?” you say, pushing off the doorframe.

“It’s ready!”

“Really?”  You turn and glance back into the kitchen, where you see the egg timer still ticking away.  “There’re still a few minutes—”

“No, no, trust me, it’s done!”  Jane dashes past you and into the kitchen, throwing on oven mitts and whipping the oven door open before you can even blink.  She gently lays the pan on the counter before hurrying back to turn the oven off and toss her mitts back into the cupboard.

“Are you going to check it?” you say.  “Like, stick something in it to see if it’s wet?”

“That’s what she said!” Jade calls.

You flip her off.

“You can if you want,” Jane says, striding past you.  “But it’s fine.”

“How do you _know?_ ”

“Crocker intuition, obviously,” she replies, referencing her mother’s connections to the Betty Crocker industry.  “Don’t put icing on the cake just yet, it needs to cool first.”

You’re opening your mouth to make some snarky remark — what exactly that remark would be, you hadn’t figured out yet — just as a blood-curdling shriek fills the tiny apartment.

“Good heavens, Jade, what the dickens was that about!” Jake cries,

“SHUSH SHUSH SHUSH SHUT UP LOOK LISTEN!”

You roll your eyes, not even bothering to return to the living room.  Instead, you wander into the kitchen, planning on searching for a chocolate icing to cover your cake.

“Jade, gosh, not so loud—”

“SHUSH!”

“Jade—”

“SHUUUUUUUSH!”

“Blimey—”

“I SAID SHUSH GODDAMN IT!”

The living room falls silent, and you expect there are hands covering mouths in order to make that happen.  Your head is stuck in the pantry as you rummage around for a container of icing, but you still hear every word that’s being projected from the TV.

“—amazing, Dave!” the show’s host is saying.  His voice is barely audible over the live audience’s screaming, and you briefly wonder what’s got them (and Jade) so excited before remembering that you don’t care.

“Why don’t you tell the viewers how they can enter, huh?”

“Right.”   Ugh, _Strider_.  Even when being blasted through shitty television speakers and nearly covered entirely by the screams of his fans, his voice send a shiver of fury and irritation down your spine.  “So, you can either call the number that should be flashing on your screens, or send a video submission to the email that should also be there.  You have to sing about why you want to be picked, and it doesn’t have to be good.  The more creative your submission, the better your chance of getting picked.  When the number of submissions has been reduced to a couple hundred, I personally will choose my favorite.  The winner will spend a week watching me film my upcoming movie, which is being handled with more secrecy than the president’s porno collection.”

The audience roars again, but this time with laughter.  You groan and keep searching.

“That’s right, folks!” the host says, his cheery voice sounding strained.  Probably wondering what the consequences for allowing Dave Strider to say that on live television are.  “Call and sing a song, or email a video of your song, and you could win a chance to spend a week with Dave Strider!”

Jade’s scream in inhumane.

“KARKAT!”

At the sound of her voice, you panic.  You jolt up, hit your head on the shelf above you, go flying backwards, hit the counter, and go crashing to the floor.

“FUCKING HELL, HARLEY, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?” you shout, reaching up to rub your throbbing temple.

“GIVE ME MY PHONE!” Jade screams.

“LET ME JUST MAKE SURE I DON’T HAVE A MINOR CONCUSSION FIRST!”

“I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK, GET ME MY SHITFLIPPING PHONE OR I WILL CASTRATE YOU!”

“GOD, FINE! WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?”

“ON THE COUNTER NEXT TO THE TOASTER!

The toaster is located on the counter behind you, so you don’t bother looking as you reach up and grab the phone off the spotless countertop (Jade might have a tendency to be a slob, but Jane is nothing if not meticulously neat).  You briefly debate sending Jade’s phone down the garbage disposal just to spite her, but then decide that she’d find some way to get you back.  Bummer.

“Here you go, knock yourself out,” you say, tossing the phone to her.  She snatches it out of the air and bolts off to her room with so much speed you think you got whiplash just witnessing it.  The door slams shut with a _BANG_ , and you, Jane, Jake, and John are left sitting there in bewildered silence.

“Can I record her singing for future pranking purposes?” John asks, breaking the silence.

“She’s a better singer than all of us, mate,” Jake says, patting his cousin on the back.  “It would only leave you vulnerable for a similar pranking, but with more disastrous results.”

John crosses his arms and pouts.

The four of you sit in silence for a second longer, but the second you hear Jade’s voice through her closed door (she’s not a particularly talented singer, not by a long shot, but she certainly is better than most), Jane bolts up and announces that it’s time for cake decorating, Jake and John included.

When Jade returns, you and the other three have managed to slap together something lopsided and barely held together that kind of looks like a cake if you squint and tilt your head to the side.  One quarter of it is smooth and professional-looking (Jane’s part), another looks like it was given a good effort, but not much skill was held by the person who completed that bit (Jake’s contribution), a third quarter is barely covered had been completed as quickly as possible (John’s addition), and the last quarter had simply spiraled out of control into a sticky, messy blob that spilled onto the plate it rested on (your meager attempt at icing the cake, obviously).

Jade’s face is flushed and her hand clenching the phone is trembling slightly.  She doesn’t notice the cake until Jane says, “We made you something.”  The girl’s green eyes are wide when she turns to the chocolaty blob sitting on the counter, and her face immediately splits into a buck-toothed grin when she sees what’s written on it.

GOOD LUCK, JADE.

“You guys…” she says, her hand relaxing.

“I hope you win, Jade!” John declares cheerfully.

“Best of luck to you, mate,” Jake remarks.

“I just want you out of my hair for a week,” you grumble, crossing your arms. 

Jane elbows you in the bicep.  Jade sticks her tongue out at you.

“So, are we going to sit around admiring this catastrophic creation like a bunch of crusty pantaloons, or shall we feast?”

“I dunno, Karkat helped make it,” John says, eying you.  “Might not want to trust it.”

“You just don’t want to eat anything that came out of a Betty Crocker box,” you growl.

“So what did you sing, Jade?” Jane interrupts, evading an upcoming bickering match with a practiced ease.

Jade blushes down to her neck, and she lets a section of her black hair cover her face.  “I’d rather not talk about it,” she mumbles, grinning sheepishly.

You narrow your eyes at her.  “Wait.”

“Don’t say it, please Karkat!” Jade cries, clasping her hands together as if in prayer.

“You _didn’t_!” you exclaim.

“Karkat—”

“What did she do?” John asks, looking between the two of you with confusion.

You shake your head, ignoring the pleading puppy dog look Jade gives you.  “Senior year,” you say.  “She was a sophomore.”

“No, Karkat, please—”

“She took the song ‘You Really Got Me’…” you continue.

“That old song by The Kinks?” John asks.

“That very one.”  You nod sadly.  “Well, she just changed a few of the pronouns and threw the name ‘Dave’ in there a couple of times—”

“Oh bloody hell, Jade,” Jake says.  “You sang that?  And now Dave Strider’s going to listen to it?”

“I-I panicked, okay!” Jade defends.  “I just remembered that I would sing that when I was a sophomore, and then the lady picked up the phone and I just started singing and I couldn’t stop—”

“Oh honey, come eat some cake,” Jane says sympathetically.  You, Jake, and John are all giving each other sideways glances and snickering under your breath.  Jane gives the three of you a paralyzing glare as she slides a slice of cake (from the most visually appealing side, of course) over to her cousin.

“Well, I still hope you win,” you say when you finally are handed a slice of cake.  “Maybe once you spend a week with him you’ll realize what a major douche he probably is.”

“Or maybe we’ll fall in _love_!” Jade exclaims, leaping out of her seat with her hands clasped under her chin.  “Oh my god, could you imagine if _Dave Strider_ kissed me?  Oh my god, I think I would _die_.”

“Amusing fantasy,” you remark dryly.  “I’m afraid reality won’t quite live up to it.”

“Shut up, Karkat,” she says, glaring.  “You’re the most unrealistic dreamer out there, with all your rom-coms that you sob over every night.  Let me fantasize about an actual, living person who is the epitome of all things perfection, and not just the idea of one.”

You open your mouth to retort, two things on your mind: one, Dave Strider is in _no_ way the epitome of all things perfect, and two, _low fucking blow_ , Jade, that wasn’t even _close_ to cool. Romcoms and your insatiable need for them are something that you possess no control over.  If you could find a way to calm your addiction (and that was the only way to describe it, really: _addiction_ ), you would do it.  But somehow a gene was passed down to you, granting you really good fucking movie taste and really bad self-control, and you couldn’t stop genetics. Her obsession was something quite different, an _acquired_ trait rather than your inherited, which meant that if she put even an ounce of the effort she puts into internet stalking the superstar, she could silence this addiction as quickly as it came on, which was obviously the best option. But no, she decided to be the world’s most obnoxiously obsessed fangirl, which was saying a lot.

Thinking twice (a rare occasion for you, somebody better bake a cake to celebrate—oh wait), you close your mouth with a sigh, realizing no matter what you said, she’d just use the same excuse:  _Dave Strider is perfect_. You allow yourself to be distracted by the pastry being passed into your hands, only to snap back to reality to hear Jane speak.

“Anyways, I bet you were still great, Jade, maybe you will still have a chance.”  She grins suddenly, her teeth somehow devoid of any chocolatey bits.  “If anything, it might give you an edge over everyone else.  Dave’s all about ‘irony’, right?  What could possibly be more ironic than ‘You Really Got Me’?"

You and the other two nod, trying your hardest to not appear sarcastic (at least, that’s what’s happening in your case; Dave Strider’s whole deal with “irony” makes even less sense than Jade’s obsession with said superstar).  Jade, not noticing your sarcasm, smiles a little before taking a bite out of the cake.

John refuses to touch his slice, which is insulting.  Then again, you did find a bit of eggshell in your piece; you chewed it up without letting the others know, and nobody else said anything, so you assume that it was just your slice.  Besides, John probably would have refused to eat it unless his dad had made it and was forcing it down his throat; very few things could get the man to ingest a Betty Crocker creation.  The other three (and you) eat their entire piece, but nobody asks for seconds.  When you finish, you pack up your things to go home, since it’s getting late, but you don’t even make it to the hallway before you’re roped back into another conversation about something simple yet engaging, and before long you find yourself sitting with them in the living room at one in the morning, drowsily tossing half hearted curses at John while Jade leans against your side.

The strange thing about the Egbert-Harley-English family (god, their family tree is so confusing) is that even though you often times feel like you’re intruding or you feel out of place, they’ve always stuck by you and tried to keep in touch.  All your friends from highschool and college have drifted away, but these two (plus their individual siblings) still stuck with you. Without them, you'd most likely be on your own, and that's something you're not capable of doing. These four might not be your family, but they sure know how to make you feel like you belong to one.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, after this i only have 70% of chapter 3 finished and then it's time to wait ages for each new update (I'm sorry)
> 
> also, with the exception of this chapter and maybe a few others, the general format of each chapter is going to be a short scene from dave's pov before the rest of the chapter in karkat's. in case you were wondering (you weren't)

==>

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're currently in the middle of a long-winded rant about why you are never, ever going to take your brother's advice again.

"-singing about how much they want to _lick my freckles_ , Dirk, what the fuck-"

Dirk, to your dismay and unbound fury, is grinning slightly and chuckling softly, which to a Strider is the equivalent of a knee-slapping guffaw. The more you speak, the more gleeful he seems to be, which only serves to fuel your fury even further. Which makes him laugh harder. Fucking hell.

It only makes sense that he'd find this funny. The fucker probably planned everything to turn out exactly the way he wanted it to, just like he always does. He'd been the one to suggest the contest in the first place, and like the idiot you are, you thought it sounded great. You'd been expecting hilarious recordings of pre-teen girls professing their undying love to you, and while that certainly took up a large portion of the entries, there was also the middle-aged weirdos who told you things that you would've been perfectly happy never having heard in your life. At first it was funny, hilarious even, but soon it began to border on terrifying and creepy. There were a lot of people out there who wanted to do things with you that you were beyond uncomfortable with.

"-she sang opera about how much she wanted to bring out my inner masochist, and she was old enough to be my _grandmothe_ r-"

"Daaaaaave," sang a bubbly voice. Thin arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders. "You wouldn't have to worry about that if you would stop listening to all the contestants."

You scowl and struggle to shake your attacker off, which you already know is a fruitless task. Your cousin has a grip like iron. "With you two being in charge of weeding out the boring contestants, the creepy shit will be all I'm going to get."

"Don't forget Rose," the woman clutching our neck croons. Her breath brushes across your face, and you can smell alcohol. Which is unsurprising. “Rose’s also helping.”

You roll your eyes.  “Yes, and that’s such a comfort to me.  Roxy, I can’t breathe."

"Deeeeaaaaal with it, Davey."

"Listen," Dirk says, his demeanor back to rigid and unapproachable. "Give us a definite set of guidelines, leave us alone, and you won't have to listen to any more middle-aged men singing about how much they want to-"

"Okay, I don't even want that sentence finished," you growl, cutting him off. "Make sure they're, like, amusing songs, but don't let it be creepy. Good singers are okay, but if they're really, really bad it'll be funnier. If they just sing some boring love song, cut them. It has to be interesting, at the least."

Dirk nods and Roxy releases you from her grasp. Your cousin ruffles your hair as your anime-shaded brother gives you a smirk. "Alright, little bro. We'll give you a batch of suitable submissions by tonight."

 

==>

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and any semblance of order your life might have held before the "Week With Strider" contest has been completely thrown out the window.

The time slot for giving entries is a three-month period, and at two months, three weeks and six days, you're more than ready to punch Jade in the face. Or Dave Strider. Or both. Both would be good. Both would be fucking fantastic.

You, Jane, John, and Jake have a list of the phases Jade has gone through since the contest has begun. It goes like this:

1\. The embarrassed phase. During this phase she moans about how badly she fucked up, how she's going to lose, how she'll never get to meet Dave Strider, and how her life is terrible. She's so pathetic during this stage that you can't get mad at her, not really. Only slightly annoyed and exasperated.

2\. The optimistic phase. This one is much less common than any of the other stages. When she's fully entrenched in optimism, she'll begin to rant again about how perfect Dave Strider is and fantasizing about what it'll be like to meet him. It's irritating, but probably everyone's favorite phase. After all, sadness, anger, and pessimism don't suit Jade very well. You all feel better when Jade is happy.

3\. The full-on-fangirl phase. Everyone was familiar with this version of Jade prior to the contest, but it was usually a rare sighting. Now, she seemed to be slipping into this stage of sobbing over ice cream while building a shrine in her bedroom almost every other week. Only Jane had the power to talk her down from this mood through several hours of gentle words and promises of salted caramel brownies.

4\. The final phase, the indignant rage phase. When in this phase, Jade is impossible to talk to. She's a whirlwind of fury at her failed entry, at her unsupportive friends, at Dave fucking Strider for being so fucking perfect. That last bit was not something you came up with, obviously.

Jade spends most of her time in the first stage, and the others are scattered about. It's awful for more reasons than you can count, but the main one being that you literally can't stand to be in the same room as her. Yes, Jade has been a crazy fangirl for years, but her fangirling was usually spaced out enough that you could hold conversations with her about other topics than Dave Strider. At the announcement of the dumb fucking contest, Normal Person Jade took a dive bomb out of the window and left you with Crazy Person Jade. You just hope that she gets herself together once the winner of the contest is announced. Which you really hope she doesn't win.

It's a little selfish, you'll admit, but if she wins you'll be forced to deal with either worse fangirling when she gets back or a crushed Jade when she learns that Dave Strider isn't as fantastic as she thinks he is. You're not sure which is worse.

(And fine, you might also miss her a little bit if she disappears for a week. Without her, you'll be stuck with John and his trashy Nic Cage movies and have to deal with that shit alone—you're shuddering at the thought.)

To be fair, though, you’re not the only one with conflicted reasoning.  Jane and John both are excited for her and wish her the best, but Jake agrees with you: he hopes Jade doesn’t win.  He gave the same two reasons that you gave, and that’s fair enough, but you suspect that he also doesn’t want to admit that he’d miss her.  She is his sister after all.

Even with two people providing moral support to Jade in her time of need, everyone who isn’t Jade is still 100% done with her shit.

“Last day to enter,” John says.  There are bags under his eyes and his hair is even more of a mess than usual.  Seated around the table, everyone else looks the same.  “Then we have a week before the winner will be announced.  Then we’re done with his stupid contest forever.”

Everyone nods. It's the fourth Friday of the month, which has forever been designated the "Let's All Get Smashed" night amongst your group. The methods of achieving this have varied, but tonight it looks like you'll all be sitting around Jake's kitchen table, slowly drinking yourselves into a stupor. What joy.

Jake and John are the only ones who currently live alone; Jane and Jade live together, and you live with some glasses-wearing nerd who spends most of his time holed up in his room, fiddling with computers, and almost never talks to you.  Jake and John, however, spend so much time at each others houses that they might as well live together. It's rare for the five of you to hang out at your apartment or John's, but the other two homes are frequent visiting places.

"This beer is shit," you say.

"My life is shit," Jade mumbles into her glass.

You roll your eyes and slam your glass down on the table. "Alright, can someone please think of some way to make Harley get the fuck over herself and stop whining so much, because she's been like this all day and it's a total buzzkill."

"How about a game of truth or dare?" Jane says before Jade can retaliate.

"Sounds fantastic!" Jake says, jumping on Jane’s idea.

"Okay," John responds.

"Yeah, whatever," you grumble.

"Normal rules." Jane says. "If you chicken out of either a truth or a dare, you have to do the opposite of what you picked. Okay?" Everyone nods. Truth or dare, while not as practiced as it was back in high school, is still routine for the five of you.  Conclusions of this game range from “that was fun but we’re tired” to “we better stop or we’re going to be arrested.”

"Alright, I'll go first," Jane says, chipper as always. Sometimes you feel like without her, all of you would have torn each other's throats out a long time ago. "Someone dare me."

"I dare you to kiss the person on your left," John says before anyone else can open their mouth. "Ten seconds, no tongue. Unless you want to."

Jane smirks. "Awesome."

The person on her left is Jake.

Ten seconds of laughter and wolf-whistling later, a very flustered-looking Brit is babbling awkwardly as Jane turns to you, completely unruffled. "Truth or dare."

"Dare," you say without hesitation, your laughter drying out.

Jane smiles as if she'd planned for this all along. "I dare you to watch Sburbland for the duration of the game."

You glower at her, but pull out your phone to find Dave Strider's most popular movie online. "You twisted bitch."

Jane smiles sweetly.

"Alright," you say, looking at Jade. "Pick."

"Dare," she replies.  She looks better already, her cheeks pink from laughter (or booze; probably both).

"Sing us what you sang for the Week-With-Strider contest."

An hour and a half later, Dave Strider's shitty face is swimming in front of your vision as he delivers an inspiring speech with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. You don't know how that face is inspirational, but all the extras cheer him on and the hot actress with the huge rack gives him the "I'm Gonna Fuck You Later" face, so whatever. By this point in time, Jake has run naked up and down his hallway, John has taken a piss out the window, you have explained in explicit detail how you felt when you had a crush on John in middle school, Jane has stripped to just her underwear, Jade has shown all of you the Dave Strider x Reader fanfiction she has saved on her phone (and read one of the shorter ones out loud), you've started a drinking game concerning the movie you're watching ("Drink every time Dave Strider flips his hair." "Drink every time Dave Strider's glasses reflect what he's looking at." "Drink every time Dave Strider says 'cool'."), Jane's told all of you the story of how she discovered she was bi, and all of you have achieved high levels of intoxication.

"Alright, alllllright," Jade says, literally wheezing from laughter. "Karkat, Karkat, this one's for you."

"Dare," you say between bursts of laughter. There are tears at the corner of your eyes, the result of watching Jade attempt to twerk to some shitty pop song (key word being _attempt_ ; Jade may be the best singer, but Jane is the best dancer, with John pulling in a surprisingly close second).

Jade’s sudden smirk sends a shiver down your spine.

“I dare you,” she says, pointing her finger at your face like Uncle Sam.  It doesn’t waver, which is a little unnerving considering the amount of alcohol she’d consumed.  “To enter the Week With Strider contest.”

The shiver runs back up your spine again, and you pause the movie on your phone to glare at her.  “As long as I can be in a different room.”

“Alright, but we have the right to press our ears to the door to listen.”

You glower, but you don’t protest.  “Dial up the number.”

You disappear into Jake’s room as the phone plays some shitty Dave Strider song (interrupted every few minutes with a “Please hang on, someone will be with you shortly.  Thank you for your patience!”).  The floor sways beneath you, so you sit down on the bed to avoid toppling over.  After a surprisingly short time, someone picks up.

“Hello, you’ve reached the telephone entries for the Week With Strider contest, please state your name, age, and address before beginning your entry.”

 

==>

The door to the telephone room swings open silently, which is a letdown.  Nobody notices your entry, which leaves you standing awkwardly in the doorway as telephone rings echo around the large room.

“Brother,” you hear a cool voice to your left say.

“Sister,” you say in the general direction of Rose’s voice.

“What brings you here?  Shouldn’t you be selecting a winner from the small selection of entries we’ve given you?”

You snort.  “‘Small’.”

“Dave!” Roxy leans back in her chair, barely managing to stay upright.  You make your way over to her and Rose, who are sitting next to each other.

“Roxy.”

“You shouldn’t be in here, superstar,” your older sister says, jabbing you in the side with a pink fingernail.  “Get out.”

“The entries you gave me are boring,” you say, trying not to show how much that side-jab hurt.  “You failed.”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Dave, but most of these entries are highly unimaginative,” Rose says, removing her headphones and passing them to you.  “Listen.”

You slip them on and are immediately assaulted by the sound of a halfway-decent singer playing a ukelele cover of one of your songs (which is actually impressive, when you think about the type of music you play).

“This isn’t that bad,” you say.

“It is when what you’re hearing has been done by more than three-quarters of everyone who’s submitted an entry,” Rose replies, swiping the headphones back.

“Rose is right,” Roxy says, taking a sip out of a glass you hadn’t noticed.  “They’re mostly the same.”

“Roxy, give me that,” you say, reaching for the glass of what is undoubtedly wine.

“Nah.”  She evades your grab with ease, managing to not spill even a drop of the red liquid.  “I need something to keep me sane.”  She presses a button on the panel in front of her and puts her glass down.  “Hi!  You’ve reached the telephone entries for the Week With Strider contest!  Please give me your name, age, and address before beginning your entry!”

“Dave, please, you’re being a pest,” Rose says, reaching over and grabbing Roxy’s glass.  “If you aren’t here to say anything useful, please go find someone else to bother.”  She takes a deep gulp of the wine.  “Thank you for entering, the winner will be announced on Dave’s twitter a week after the end of the contest.”

You lean back on your heels as Rose presses another button and recites the same phrase Roxy had recited seconds before, only with considerably less enthusiasm.  You’re turning to leave just as Rose tears the headset off, letting the words of the contestant play into the open air.

“Shit, that was loud,” Rose says, rubbing her ears.

“—DON’T EVEN LIKE DAVE STRIDER, LIKE WHAT THE FUCK, WHY DID THEY DO THIS TO ME—”

“Woah, woah, what’s going on here,” you say, turning back to your sisters.

“This exceptionally loud man is entering on a dare,” Rose says.  “Should I hang up?”

“No, no, no, I want to listen to this.”  There’s a smile creeping its way onto your face as you pick up the headset.

“—SO ANYWAY, DAVE STRIDER IS SHIT, MY NAME IS KARKAT VANTAS, I’M TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD AND I LIVE IN—”

“Write down his address, quick, Rose,” you say, gesturing wildly to her.

Your twin sister raises her eyebrow at you but doesn’t comment.  Beside her, Roxy removes her headphones.

“What’s up with that guy?” she asks.

 

==>

You clear your throat.  You’re pretty sure you heard some kind of commotion on the other end of the line, but whatever.  What’s important now is singing, which you hadn’t really thought about until now.  You have no idea what to sing.

Out in the hallway, you hear giggling.  “SHUT THE HELL UP, GUYS!”

“You can sing now,” a male voice says through the phone.  Wait, wasn’t the person on the other line a woman?

“I KNOW I CAN SING NOW, YOU SPINELESS TESTICLE, I’M PREPARING MYSELF!”

 

==>

All three of your eyebrows shoot up.

“Did he just call you a spineless testicle?” Roxy says.

“This is so beautiful,” you whisper.

 

==>

You clear your throat again.  You have no idea what you’re going to say, so you begin singing (if it can be called that) whatever words pop into your head with no particular melody in mind.

“DAVE, DAVE, DAVE STRIDER!”

There's a chorus of laughter from outside the bedroom door, and you glare at it with all the fury you can muster, hoping that some of your anger radiates through the wood.  You take a breath and continue to sing.

 

==>

“—HE’S A DOUCHE AND I HATE HIM!  ONE OF MY FRIENDS IS O-O-OBSESSED, AND IT’S REALLY ANNOYING!”

“It’s not that funny, Dave,” Rose says to you.

You try to reply, but your laughter is making it hard to breathe.

 

==>

“SHE ENTERED THIS CONTEST THE VERY FIRST DAY, AND SHE SANG ‘GIRL YOU REALLY GOT ME’ BY THE KIIIIINKS!”

There’s a bang on the door, followed by a “Fuck you, Karkat!”

You flip her off through the door.

 

==>

“I remember that entry,” Roxy says.  “The poor girl sounded so scared.”

You also remember that entry.  It was one of the submissions you had picked for “potential victor.”  Now, however, you have another person in mind.

 

==>

“I DON’T LIKE DAVE STRIDER, AND I WISH HE WOULD GO TO HELL! SO THAT THEN I WOULDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH MY FRIEND’S OBSESSIVE FANGIRLING!”

Your head is spinning so hard you can barely remain seated as you are.  You should probably lie down, or at least head to a toilet, but you can’t seem to make yourself move.

 

==>

“—HIS ACTING SUCKS, HIS SONGS ARE SHIT, HE IS SUCH A MASSIVE DICK, DAVE STRIDER IS IS AN ASS, FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUCK!”

“Ooh, Old McDonald now,” Roxy says.

“Dave, seriously,” Rose says with growing irritation. “Stop laughing.”

 

==>

"I HATE IT WHEN HE FLIPS HIS HAIR OR RUNS HIS FINGERS THROUGH IT—"

You can hear laughter through the door, but also someone laughing at the other end of the line. Whoever they are, they seem to be getting a kick out of your singing. Through your alcohol-muddled brain, you think that the person has a nice laugh.

Your alcohol-muddled stomach, however, is not finding any of this “nice”.

 

==>

“HIS FRECKLES ARE SO STUPID AND HIS SHADES ARE REALLY DUMB! HIS MUSIC IS SHIIIT AND—AND—”

“He doesn’t sound good,” Roxy says in a concerned voice.

“Well, he is obviously intoxicated,” Rose counters.  “I’m sensing imminent regurgitation of any substance within his stomach.”

“—AND I THINK—oh shit—”

The three of you press against the headset to hear the unmistakable noises of someone losing their lunch (or, in this case, probably dinner).

“Stop laughing, Dave, you’re being rude.”

 

==>

The contents of your stomach don’t even hit the ground before Jake bursts into the room.

“Karkat, good god!” he cries, staring at you in horror as you fall to the floor.  “Not on the carpet!”

Jane and Jade rush into the room after him, followed by John, who’s doubled over laughing (that asshole).  Jane throws a trashcan under your face as Jade picks up the phone and begins to babble awkwardly to the person on the other end.  Even through the sounds of Jake shouting, you barfing, and Jade jabbering away, you can still hear the man with the nice laugh laughing his ass off on the other end of the line.

What a fucking asshole.

 

==>

“—really should have seen this coming, anyway, he’s a lightweight and he drank a ton, so this is really all our fault—”

In the background you can hear the sounds of puking continuing, some british guy yelling about the carpet, and someone else laughing with you.  Rose snatches the headset back and puts it on, cutting off the apologetic rambling of one of Karkat Vantas’s friends.  She calmly begins accepting apologies and finishing up the call, which the person speaking is obviously making difficult.

“Really, it’s okay, there’s no need to apologize—yes, I’ll be sure to tell Dave that—no, no, we’ve definitely had worse, trust me—”

“You’re gonna pick them, aren’t you,” Roxy says with a resigned sigh.

“Roxy.”  You roll your eyes, even though you know she can’t see it.  “Does that question even need to be answered?”

 

==>

“Okay, but what if they actually pick Karkat,” John says once you finished vomiting and both you and Jake finished cleaning up the mess you’d made.  “How great would that be?”

“That would be FUCKING UNFAIR,” Jade says with more anger than you’d expect from someone who’s half-asleep on the couch.

“I think it would be hilarious,” John insists.

“Go to sleep, moron,” you say without opening your eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: they meet (kind of maybe i don't actually know yet)


End file.
